Inspiration
by TrueLoveWillNeverDie
Summary: Rory is beaten up about Madge's death. District Twelve is in turmoil and everything is falling apart. Snow is at his worst and people are paying the price for it. Only one person can save them, but it's the person that caused all of it. How can a dead girl, a broken boy, and a secret agency bring down the Capitol? Sometimes, all that's needed is a little inspiration.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay this first chapter is just a recap of my story Sacrifice since it is essential to the rest of the story, if you've already read Sacrifice, then just go ahead onto the next chapter, if you haven't, please read! Lemme know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

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**Sac·ri·fice** [**sak**-r_uh_-fahys] **_noun_**- The surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim.

**Self-sac·ri·fice** [self-**sak**-ruh-fahys, **self**-] **_noun- _**The sacrifice of one's interests, desires, etc., as for duty or the good of another.

* * *

Madge's POV

It is Reaping Day.

I am all nerves and worry. Though, I don't sum up much uneasiness for myself.

When my name is called, I can hardly believe it, and my heart starts beating rapidly. When I realize my name is called for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, I almost start crying.

I don't, but I can feel the tears threatening to spill. It's almost a reflex as I mask them and paste a fake smile on my face. To many years of interacting with Capitol people has groomed me well, I suppose.

When I stumble slowly up to the stage, my out of place smile never faltering, my legs are numb. It's a miracle I don't trip, but there is no one in my way to trip me either. Everyone in the crowd parts for me, scattering away as if I have a deadly disease. In my own way, I guess I do.

I feel my chest clench and my muscles contract in fear, but I try not to react. I keep my eyes off of the large screen portraying me to the audience in order to not intimidate myself. I purposefully avoid my father's gaze for the sake of keeping it together.

Effie Trinket babbles on about how much of an _honor_ it is that I was chosen this year. She says it is just so _wonderful_ that the mayor's daughter is representing District Twelve. Then she says how much _pride_ I must have in myself because I was chosen. I yearn to rip her hot pink wig off of her head and shove it down her throat, but I don't, because I have manners. Because I am a politician at heart, just like my father, because it is what is expected of me, because I am the mayor's daughter.

Because I have no other idea how to act.

So I answer all her questions with that special smile I reserve for people like her. I grin to the crowd. I stand comfortably on stage, because I'm familiar with this. I'm experienced in the art of not showing how I truly feel. All the while, inside, I feel as if I am dying.

And nobody knows it.

The mass of people in front of me all look relieved. Some people look at me with contempt and others look satisfied. Only a few offer pity or sadness. The boys section still seems anxious. The male tribute hasn't been chosen yet.

I ignore all of this, and flit my eyes around nervously. It remains the only sign I'm not handling this as well as everyone thinks. As the male tribute is called, I feel my façade breaking down, piece by piece. My smile slowly slips away, my hands start shaking, and tears well up in my eyes.

Because it's Rory Hawthorne.

I don't know him very well, but I do know that he is a sibling of Gale's. I know he is one of the kids that Gale has worked all his life to feed and protect. I also know he is also only twelve and is being sentenced to death.

The crowd grumbles and curses; Effie deliberately stays quiet.

We are forced to shake hands and I finally manage to compose myself. I clasp his hand in my own and notice that his trembles. Other than the few tears I see filling in his eyes, I think that he is handling this relatively well.

As I'm lead into the justice building, I know instantly what I will do. I will protect Rory. I will get him sponsors. I will defend him in the arena.

I will die for him.

I will sacrifice myself for him.

Because, what do I really have to come back to?

A mother who remains bedridden all day? A woman who confuses me with Maysilee when she is rarely awake?

A father who is never home? A man who loves politics more than his family?

My one friend, Katniss, who I don't even talk to? A girl who would probably be better off without me bothering her?

No, I don't have anything to come back to. Rory has a family and a life. He has friends and school. He has love and a future.

I make up my mind. I will not tell anyone except my father. I can't risk anything. I will only inform him because I need the sponsor money for Rory.

I settle in for my final and permanent goodbyes. First, my father comes in. My mother is too sick to accompany him. We cry and hug. His hug is comforting, but it doesn't remind me of home. When we break apart, I update him of what I want him to do. It is hard to convince him, but once I have used every persuading bone in my body, he grudgingly agrees.

Then, Katniss enters. I am just a little surprised. I listen to her list all the ways to survive and to win. I'm only humoring her and I think she knows it. Eventually, she tires out and we cry in each other's embrace.

This is the first and the last time I will see Katniss cry.

Last of all, Gale. I am honestly not even aware he is even able to acknowledge me outside of selling to my family and insulting me. By the looks of his confused expression, he wasn't expecting to visit me either. He lashes out at me, even yells at me. I want to tell him my plan, I really do. I want to reassure him that Rory will be alright, but I don't want the Capitol to hold it over him. I don't want him to be held accountable for anything treasonous or dangerous I may or may not do. Even my father doesn't know the whole extent of my plan, but it is treacherous. As far as I know, my stand will be the only of its kind. But I am not doing it for any rebellious reasons.

No, I am doing it for Rory.

When Gale is done shouting at me, he apologizes. Over and over again, saying sorry for everything he has ever done. I'm shocked by this weakened state of Gale. I have never seen him anything less than hostile and harsh. I end up being the one embracing and soothing him.

We end up kissing. I don't know how or why, but we do. All I know is that I'm glad I don't have to die without having my first kiss. I can't believe it is with him, but I'm not complaining in the least. It seems right in a way.

I realize in that moment, that I love Gale, if only a little bit.

We break apart right before the peacekeepers burst in. They take him away. He is shouting and fighting them, but I don't think anything of it. Gale is not the compliant type and I wouldn't expect to go without a fight. Maybe I notice a glimmer of a feeling similar to mine in his eyes, but I brush it off.

Because if I don't, then it will hurt too much.

Then I am swept off to the Capitol, and so begins my death sentence.

* * *

It is time for us to be introduced to the crowds.

Our costumes are beautiful. I am shocked we were actually assigned good stylists. Or as Cinna says, they were not assigned, they chose this district.

The costumes we have on are on fire, a fire that covers every inch of our bodies. Only our faces are kept blaze free. I wear a crown that is alight with flames and Rory is adorning one too. Rory seems nervous, and to be truthful, so am I. Cinna orders us to hold hands, and I gladly accept. Rory is hesitant, and I can only imagine what Gale's told him. I smile warmly at him. The uncertainty vanishes and he grasps my hand in a death grip.

Before our carriage is wheeled out and displayed, I tell Rory to smile and wave. I order him to do whatever it takes to appeal to the crowd, because he needs the sponsors. He studies me with a complicated expression I can't decipher, but complies with a nod. He, with all his puzzlement and confusion, stays silent.

When we go out, a surprised hush runs over the mass of people. It lasts only a second before everyone is cheering, twice as loud as before. People throw flowers eagerly. They go crazy when we wave. I rein my enthusiasm in and let Rory have the spotlight. He needs it.

We get into the Training Center and Haymitch and Effie are smiling. A commodity for Effie and a rarity for Haymitch.

After we are pulled away from the glaring tributes and taken to our rooms, I seek out Haymitch.

I explain to him everything. He doesn't want to do it. He tells me that if he even pulls himself out of his alcoholic state, he will only help me. He thinks it will fulfill some strange duty he has to me. I grow mad and throw the closet thing near me at the wall.

I don't even notice that in my rage, the knife sticks. It splits the wood. Haymitch notices it though, and assures me he will stay sober enough to help. He doesn't promise anything for Rory.

It isn't enough for me. I pull out the big guns.

I remind him of Maysilee. I remind him of my mockingjay pin that preserves my strength and is a symbol of everything my family went through. He looks incredibly guilty. I tell him he owes me this one thing as a favor to my aunt. He finally agrees to my original plan and says he will do everything he can to get Rory out.

That is all I can ask.

* * *

It is time to receive our training scores.

Sitting here on the couch, I'm not worried about my training score. I'm worried about Rory's.

I learned everything possible at every station. I exceled amazingly at the knife station. My skills don't surpass Clove's, but I am as about as good as a regular person, who hasn't trained for the Games, can get. When I went in for my session with the gamemakers, I showed them what I could do. I tried to downplay it. I refuse to outscore Rory.

I helped Rory the best I could, offering any assistance where I could give it. I picked things up quicker than most people and I aided him with anything I already knew. When it came to weapons, Rory showed his skill with a bow. He admitted to sneaking out occasionally and going into the forest to practice with Gale's. He isn't as good as Katniss or Gale, but he's decent. At least, decent enough for a pleasant training score.

Rory finally trusts me now. I think he realized I am only helping him. He sometimes mutters things about Gale being blind and stupid, about how Gale is crazy to dislike me. I always laugh. Gale was the reason he was so scared to meet me.

When the screen pops up with our scores, I wait patiently. Everyone in the top districts secures high scores, but the rest are either rated normal or terrible numbers. As I observe lower and lower districts receiving lower and lower scores, I start to feel anxious.

Finally it is us and they're showing my score first.

It flashes a seven. I nod my head. It's not too terrible.

I don't feel any relief though, because I'm waiting for Rory's.

When it pops up, I smile satisfactorily to myself. Everyone else gapes, but this is what I wanted and expected. I don't think it exactly makes him a target, but it doesn't matter. I anticipate the willing sponsors will love it and that's all that matters.

It is a nine and my proud face makes Rory blush. He turns away, but I see the satisfied grin. He's the first twelve year old in history to obtain a score above an eight. I smile secretly as Haymitch glances at me.

* * *

It is the interviews.

I've thought of every way to make him seem more desirable to the sponsors. He is too young for romance, he is too old to be my child, and he is too different to by my sibling. I am at a loss. I even discussed it with Haymitch. He didn't know either.

As I'm sitting there, they summon Rory up. He does remarkably well, even with his painfully shy demeanor. The audience can't help but love him. He is adorable in a childish way, and with his amazing training score, that is a very odd mix.

I stride to my seat and I find that the atmosphere isn't nervous. Not for me anyway. Caesar chats about my score, my dad, and my clothes. I am wearing a black dress, a flaming crown is placed on my head and my dress's train is flaming. Rory matches me. He is dressed in an all black tuxedo. His crown is on fire, along with the cuffs of his jacket. We both look unbelievable.

In my interview, I try to play up Rory as much as I can. I sound like a proud sister, but the audience adores it. When I'm done, we walk back together. Effie conveys that we did well and Haymitch offers a half smile. Rory stares at me. I notice the grim lines on his face and the understanding in his eyes. He knows.

He yells at me, tells me how I shouldn't be sacrificing myself. He has a startling amount of wisdom in his voice for a twelve year old. I tell him I'm not, but we both know it is a lie.

By the end, I still will not admit to anything and he is getting frustrated. We are about to stamp off to our room when I turn around with a thought. I ask if he'd like to form an alliance. He smiles widely, the fight forgotten. He thinks he can protect me, I can tell, but it's really me trying to protect him.

I tell him to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we go into the arena.

* * *

It is _the_ day, the day that we start our survival and show what we are worth.

We all stand silently on our blocks. My pin glints in the sun, but I only can glance it once quickly before my eyes scan the arena. Haymitch ordered us to stay away from the cornucopia. It is only a bloodbath and a trick for the lesser districts. I agree.

The countdown starts.

When it ends, I'm off. I stop to grab a backpack and a coil of rope. They are the only things nearest to me. I run out of the vicinity of the fighting. I'm anxiously waiting for Rory, who I know is safe because I see him far away from the bloodshed, when it happens. Someone sneaks up behind me. I hear them before it is too late. I whip around to nervous girl holding a shiny knife, not yet used. It is the girl from District Six. She's inexperienced with the weapon and holds it awkwardly in front of her, as if she doesn't quite know how to handle it.

She lunges at me and I leap away quickly. She topples over. I stare at her for what seems like an eternity, but she doesn't move on the ground. I advance forward calmly, but with a churning stomach.

As I turn her over, I see the knife in her chest. I don't know what to feel, because she just essentially killed herself, even if it was on accident. I feel little guilt and a whole lot of regret, but the rest is undistinguishable. I retrieve the knife with unsteady hands, wipe it, and stash it in a pocket of my back pack. I don't have time to think about this, but I know it will haunt me forever.

Rory runs up, and even though I can tell that less than a few minutes have gone by, it seems like ages. He holds a blue backpack, and with one sick and pained glance at the girl, we both escape. I can tell he's shaken. He doesn't mention it though and we move on.

When we are far enough away and somewhat safe, we cry and hold onto one another.

Because we're all we have.

* * *

It is four days into the Games.

So far, it's as if we're sitting the games out. We move from place to place, but never far from each location. We have enough knowledge between the two of us to survive on the little food we found in the backpacks and the food we capture in the forest. Between the two backpacks, we were able to gather a water purifier, a thermal blanket, and the basics for a few snares. We have a good amount of water and never seem to have dry throats, though we ration it out. The blanket is useful because we take turns sleeping and keeping watch. The snares catch dinner on a good day and we don't go very hungry. We live as comfortably as anyone can in the Games.

I have a theory as to why we haven't been bothered. The gamemakers don't bother us because we hold the audience's attention. When there is a period of time with no deaths, they cut to us. There have been slaughters each day, but usually far apart in time. I estimate that there are seven or eight are left. When the action becomes slow though, they can switch to our silly banter and amusing jokes. We act very much like a brother and sister, and I suppose it's cute.

If they knew truth though, they would see that, emotionally, we really are brother and sister.

I know our pleasant times are almost up. More than half have been killed off. They are bound to send something or someone our way soon.

A day comes when I hear a rustle in the bushes, and I know that that time is now. I pretend not to notice, but years of playing the piano have crafted sensitive ears. It didn't take me long, maybe a day, to adjust my ears to the sounds of the woods. It is easy to pick the difference in the nature and human.

I slowly unsheathe my knife that I've kept in my belt loop. I go on gathering the berries that I'd been focusing on before I heard them. I wait for some sort of attack or confrontation.

When Glimmer walks out with Marvel, I can't help but feel relief that Rory isn't near. I turn around and peer at them darkly under my lashes. Dropping the berries, I wait for them to speak. Glimmer taunts me with a threatening smirk while Marvel glares sinisterly.

When Marvel goes to spear me, I jump out of the way. He continues, trying to get at me, but it's fruitless. While he is decent with the weapon, I am too quick. Glimmer knocks a few arrows with difficulty and she obviously knows nothing about how the weapon. When I'm far enough away from Marvel, I see just how much Glimmer is struggling with the bow. She has moved off the side and has an annoyed expression as she fiddles with it. She is confident in her partner and pays me no heed. Marvel is frustrated and it is ruining his sharp senses. I jump behind Glimmer.

I stab her in the back. She looks at her district partner, absolutely stunned, before falling to her knees. She keels over and is still, lifeless and limp. The life visibly drains from her. It is a quick death, and in the arena, that's all you can ask for. I don't have time to ask myself how I feel about it. I pull my knife out and look at Marvel.

He stares at his district partner, shock evident in his eyes, before snarling at me and attacking with passion. I jump and step away and cleverly avoid the spear. I notice a few openings, I just need to get the resolve and do it.

He's tiring and I'm not. I've been resting and growing stronger. I position my knife and ready my counterattack. I think I might come out of this.

Then I feel the spear rake across my stomach. The cut is deep and painful and I can't help the horrible scream that comes out of my mouth. I fall slowly to the ground a sick gurgle coming from my throat as the scream dies away. The whole time I'm struggling and trying to stay on my feet, but it's hopeless.

I lay on the ground with blood staining my clothes. I'm helpless and tears are in the corner of my eyes, though they stubbornly refuse to spill. He walks over to me slowly. He's going to draw this out, I can tell.

As I'm cringing and leaning away, my abdomen searing with pain, Rory appears through the brush. I know the horror is clear on my face. Marvel mistakes my distress for fear and pain, and he grins. I set my mouth, focusing my gaze on Marvel. I want to cry and scream and give up, but I won't, not while Rory is still alive.

I keep him busy. I taunt him and insult him. I make him so angry he can't see straight. While I do this, even with the agony radiating throughout my body, I silently beg Rory to get out of here. He doesn't, instead, he slowly takes the bow and arrows from Glimmer's lifeless grip. He remains quiet and steely, but I detect the cold fear in his eyes. Rory hesitantly readies an arrow in the bow. He aims it at Marvel.

Marvel turns around, hearing Rory snap a twig. He is just in time for the arrow to hit him in the throat. He dies gradually. His death is not as quick as Glimmer's, as the arrow didn't hit him quite right. He backs up a few wobbly steps before collapsing. I know Rory is trying to process what he did, but I also know he won't be able to, at least, not right now. Maybe not ever. Killing something isn't something anyone, much less a twelve year old, can work through.

As Rory looks back to me, that line of thought leaves his eyes. Worry fills them and he runs over to me.

"Madge!" he sobs. I see tears and panic in his steel eyes as he frantically studies me. I grab his hand when he falls to his knees beside me. I think my wound is survivable. It would take a lot of work, medicine, money, but it might eventually heal.

But I don't want to weigh Rory down by tagging along with him, barely walking and offering no assistance at all. I would use up all our resources and it would be selfish. It wouldn't matter in the end anyway.

Only one will win.

I decide to do the right thing and set him free. I can't do any more for him than be a burden. I love him like a brother and if I can't provide for him, then I am endangering him.

"Rory," I say weakly. I want to cry too, but I hold it back. "You're safe," I whisper more to myself than him. I can't help but check over him, just in case.

"I was supposed to protect _you_. I _needed_ to protect you," he cries. I wish I could break down at his desperate and lost voice. Instead, I smile at him and reach an arm up to run a hand through his hair affectionately. "I didn't… I didn't protect you."

"You did protect me, sweetie, we've been great. We've had food, shelter, water. I couldn't have done all of it on my own. You helped me, more than you know. You were there for me, you protected me," I reassure him. I want to cry, because he gave me so much more. He gave me a friend, a confidant, a _brother_.

"No," he denies, deadpan.

He doesn't believe me, but I can't spend my time on that. Someone might have heard the cannon booms and go searching. "Rory, listen. I need you to listen, okay?" I demand sternly.

He nods with tears streaming down his face.

"I want you to leave and-"

"No, no Madge, I won't," he cuts me off, a frown on his face. It makes him look so much older. Though, the tears and the loss in his eyes somehow seem so young.

"Listen!" I order. "There aren't many left. Go hide. Hide, and protect yourself with the bow. Take the rest of the food and supplies." He's shaking his head and biting his lip, trying to keep from sobbing loudly. "Rory, you can make it!" I reason.

"You can too, Madge. Don't give up yet," he pleads. I see the desperation in his eyes. I see how much he wants me to stand up and brush myself off. How he wants this all to be a bad dream.

"I want _you_ to make it," I smile sadly. "You know I can't do anything when I'm like this. You have your family and your friends and a home to go back to. I want you to win. Win for _me_."

I see my reasoning get through to him and relax internally. "Please," he whispers one last time, futilely.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry."

It takes a moment, but then a dark look passes over him. He straightens up and there is no more youth in his eyes.

"I'll win. I'll win for you Madge. I'll go home and make sure no one forgets you_. No one,_" he vows determinedly. He leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner… I could've… I would've-" he chokes off with fresh sobs, but they are more controlled.

"No. Don't say that. You would've gotten hurt," I state seriously.

He presses another kiss to my cheek. I finally let my tears fall and kiss him on the forehead. "I love you, Madge. You're my best friend and you're my sister."

I smile and cup his cheek. I give it a little pat. "And you're my little brother. Don't ever forget that," I whisper. Everything's blurry through my tears. I manage to come back to my senses and blink them away. "Go now. Be safe Rory. Take everything we have. I'll be okay. I promise."

He gets up solemnly. Every step is forced and stiff, but he's separating himself from me. He'll be okay now. He disappears through the brush with one long last pain filled glance at me. And I can tell, he's no longer a child.

When I'm alone, I can only focus on my pain. It's not pleasant, or even bearable. I have to work my way through the pain and the agony filled haze. Maybe I was in shock or maybe Rory kept me from my pain, but now he's gone now and it hurts.

When I can't take being a sitting duck anymore, I drag myself to the stream. I know it is near. We used to go there every day for water. It hurts with every movement and tears streak down my cheeks. I want to scream and shout, but I manage to keep my volume down to whimpers and snivels.

Then, when I meet the water, I pull myself in completely. I submerge everything but my face. My wound is being gently cleaned by the soft current, but I know it is only temporary. I need to treat it, but I don't know how nor do I have the supplies I would need. I sweep mud, leaves, and twigs over my body and face. When I'm fully covered, I wipe mud over my eyelids and close them. I just want to stay alive long enough to see that Rory gets to the very end. Then I'll get the weapon in my belt loop and end myself. Or maybe I'll be able to let go and die by sheer will, I don't know.

Either way, I lay and wait, because it is all I can do.

* * *

It is near the end.

Each day, time slowly passes by. I know it's only been two or three days by the anthems that play nightly, but the agony makes it so much longer. I survive on the water from the stream. I can't sense parts my body sometimes. It is a relief from the pain, but a relief that worries me. On one cold night, I couldn't feel my body at all, everything went numb. I couldn't even muster up the energy to speak, but I survived.

I only open my eyes to check the anthem each night. It is suspenseful. It goes by district and ours is always last. I feel the greatest sense of relief and fear when I see Rory's face isn't up in the sky. I feel relief because he is alive and fighting. I feel fear because it's getting closer to the end. This is when people start hunting each other.

Cato, Thresh, and Rory are the only ones left. There is me, but I am just barely hanging on.

I don't even count myself as alive anymore.

* * *

It is the final three.

It's Cato, Rory, and I. We are the only ones. I know what I have to do now. I saw Cato pass by my stream earlier. He carries an arrogant ring to him. Even as he sauntered silently by me, I could sense the smugness and overconfidence. He didn't see me and he doesn't suspect anyone is near him or that he is in danger.

Wrong.

The sky has turned completely dark and even the little firelight bugs offer no flashes of light. I slowly pull myself up. I don't know what scares me more, the pain I do feel or the pain that I don't. I look terrible. I'm covered in who knows what and the grimace planted on my face would crack a mirror. I crawl out of the water and onto land. It's odd at first, not being in the water, but I get used to it.

When I can move again, I slowly sit up. I retie my ragged and dirty hair. I rid my body of most the mud and leaves. I appear somewhat human again. When I'm as clean as I can get, I study my cut.

It is terrible. I conclude my oozing wound must be infected. It didn't scab over quite properly and is still bleeding a bit. I examine little marks and red lines going up and down my stomach. I don't know much about injuries, but I'm sure I have blood poisoning.

I take off my jacket. It uses a lot of strength, but I summon all my will power. I whimper as I gently touch the slice in my abdomen and immediately pick up a small branch near me. I bite the stick while slowly breathing in and out. When I get control of myself, I tightly wrap my stomach in the fabric of my jacket. I need to staunch the blood and the pain. I close my eyes as the pain shoots through me. When I'm done, I take out my knife.

I hate the difficulty I have getting to my feet. I'm fighting gravity and gravity is winning. I keep the stick in my mouth as a reminder to stay silent through the pain. It is agony getting to my feet and remaining silent, but Cato's camp is set up near here and I need the element of surprise. When I'm finally upright, the world is a little blurry and I'm dizzy.

With silent footfalls, I make my way to Cato's camp. I am worn out already and I am light headed, but I persevere. I maintain all my concentration on being quiet. Somewhere along the way, when I have gained complete controlled of myself, I spit out the small branch.

I glimpse his blond hair up ahead. He is staring into the fire, caught in between sleep and consciousness. There's no movement from him. He doesn't see or hear me. I am a little lopsided in my steps and movements, but I manage to come up behind him without him knowing. Perhaps exhaustion dulls his senses or perhaps he and his cocky attitude just don't expect anyone to attack him right now, but whatever the reason, he doesn't notice me.

I stand behind him. It only takes one simple jerk of my arm and it is over. He is over. I don't even know if he feels the pain. There's almost no sound. A slicing sound, a slight gurgle, and then silence. It is a quiet way to go.

I analyze his hunched over body carefully as the canon goes off in the distance. Red is seeping out of the slit throat and pooling onto the ground. I don't regret what I did, but it causes so much grief.

He may have been a killer and Career, but he was someone's son or brother or friend.

I let the weight of every death and everything I've ever done crash down on me. I start sobbing. I'm crying and the tears flow freely, I don't try to hold them back. I can't stand anymore. I collapse. I'm sitting against a tree with my gash ripped open from my physical exertion. It is bleeding heavily and it causes me a great deal of pain, but somehow my emotional stress is worse.

I wipe Cato's blood off my knife. I stare at the cold metal in my hand for a good amount of time, just thinking. It has killed a total of three people.

I'm quiet, and I feel out of place in the cold night air, as I say my goodbyes.

"I love you, mom. So much, I know you were in pain a lot, but you were still a good mom. I don't want you to watch. I want you to look away." My voice is steely, but my resolve is weakening. "Dad, don't let her watch."

I bring the knife closer and see my reflection in the dying light of Cato's fire. "I love you, dad. You gave me everything. I'll always wish you could have been around more, but you were the most wonderful father." I bite my lip and take a deep breath. "Don't watch either," I command in a quiet but firm voice. Tears stream down my cheeks and I don't bother to wipe them.

"I'll miss you Katniss. You are my friend and you're true and good hearted. Keep in good care." I find my hand is shaking and try to steady it.

"Haymitch, you're an ass. But when push comes to shove, you're there for everyone. You were there for me. Your debt has been paid." I run my finger along the blade that has killed others and is now about to end another life.

"And lastly… Gale. You and Katniss are both the strongest people I know. I feel honored to have even met you. Tell Rory…" I trail off, holding back a wave of sadness as I nearly choke on a sob. "Tell him he's the only person I've ever truly felt connected to. He's my little brother. You need to protect him with _everything_ you have. Tell him I'm sorry, but I don't regret this. He needs to go home. He is my brother. And make sure that he remembers-" I cut off in a sob. My throat is thick and my breathing is shaky. I compose myself enough to continue. "Tell him that I love him."

I raise the knife to my own throat. My hands lose their shake as I feel a serene calm come across me. I'm deathly still. I already decided that this is how I would go and I will carry out on it. Rory will win. The tears stop and I'm not sobbing anymore.

I feel the bite of the knife against my throat. It draws blood and I grit my teeth.

I stop when I see a parachute fall from the sky. It drops directly into my lap.

I don't know what this is. I open the box hesitantly. I told Haymitch not to send me anything. What could he even send me now that would matter?

As I open it, I see a vile. Its sugary scent, even with the lid on, overwhelms me. I scan it and see a note I hadn't noticed, attached with the parachute. I open it slowly.

_"Just like going to sleep, sweetie. Don't let them get the bloody death they want." –Haymitch_

I smile into the sky and mouth a thank you. I clutch the note in my fist tightly, savoring his last words to me, before throwing it into the fire.

I tip the fluid to my lips. I drink it all, until there is nothing left. It doesn't even take a second for the effects to take hold. The bottle rolls away from my hand as my hold slackens.

I smile as I lay on the ground. Everything's warm now. It is comfy and the world goes blurry around me. The pain and the hurt and the numb are gone. In its place rests a hazy warmth. I close my eyes to the bright fire in front of me. Everything is swirling in a confusing, but strangely comforting, way. I don't have a worry or a fear in the world. Only peace and happiness.

I feel when my heart starts slowing down. I don't mind. It feels peculiar, but it is not unpleasant. I'm already sleeping as it is. Or I'm going to sleep. It is all very confusing. I hear the slow thumps get further and further apart. It thuds in my ears now, my beating pulse. Instead of the light of the fire shining dimly through my eyelids, it is an endless abyss of black now. I can't feel or hear or see anything. The sweet flavor from the medicine doesn't even linger on my tongue anymore.

Everything is nothing.

It comes to a point where the only thing my mind comprehends are the slow thumps. I know they are important, but I don't remember why. The distance in between the beats is great and it is getting harder and harder to wonder why they're important. They slowly get farther and farther apart, but I still can't understand their significance. I settle for listening to their comforting and sluggish rhythm.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

And then there is silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**So as I said, this will be a sort of continuation of Sacrifice. Just in case you haven't read it on my page or don't want to, I'm not sure if it's necessary for this plotline… okay, it kind of is. I'll just post it in the chapter before this. Anyway, for those of you who were waiting forever, I have this:**

**Okay, so I am sooooooooo sorry for not getting this out sooner. My laptop broke literally days after posting Sacrifice. So this has actually just been sitting in my documents. Luckily, it was only the screen that was broken, otherwise I would've lost this. Sorry again for abandoning Staying Alive, but a new chapter is up if you would have mercy on me and read it. I understand your frustration and I'm so sorry. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games… Sorry!**

* * *

Katniss's POV

Rory comes home today.

We wait at the train station, wrapped in threadbare coats and hole ridden scarfs. I grip Prim's hand like it is my lifeline and my mother does the same.

I wish I could say that today will be happiest moment of our lives, that there will be no sorrow or tears, but that would be a lie. Rory's return feels bittersweet and its burning my senses. I try to distinguish between the grief and the happiness, but I only find a confusing mixture. They announced the winner on national television. The shocked look on Rory's face made my heart break from the pain, the loss.

_Primrose squeezes my hand tighter. She's staring at the screen, tears smearing her pinks cheeks. My mother has spaced out, closing her eyes and cradling her head in her hands. She couldn't handle it, still can't. She broke down as soon as she realized what Madge was going to do. She dove for the safety of her comatose state, ignoring everything and everyone around her. _

_I want to say that I held it together. That my cheeks aren't wet from crying or my eyes aren't puffy from tears. I want to say that I remained strong for my sister._

_But I didn't. _

_Because Madge is my friend. More than that, she is a symbol to all. She is strong and courageous and fearless. She just sacrificed herself for another. I can't utter a word, though my lips move to say something, anything, I can't. _

_I don't even know how I feel about it._

_How can I say that I'm grateful that Rory made it through when Madge suffered such a horrific death? She experienced so much pain until the very end. I can't say that I wish it didn't happen. I wanted Rory to come home. Yet, I still possess a sense of regret and grief and sadness, and if you asked me right now, who I would pick to come home, I wouldn't know. _

_I wanted them both to._

_How do you choose between two people that you care about? _

_Even the most coldblooded person broke down into tears. Ever since the final eight, viewings have been mandatory in the square. It is absolutely silent. The only noise being the muffled sobs and heavy breathing coming from the crowd._

_The camera leaves Madge's still body. She doesn't look like she is dead. It is as if she is sleeping. A peaceful smile is planted on her beautiful face and her jacket it covering the wound. It makes it seem as if she is harm free, simply slumbering. _

_But I know different and that knowledge brings a new wave of tears on._

_I want to turn around and see Gale. I want to discover his reaction. I want to know if I can help him. He visited Madge before she left for the Games, but he won't tell about tell me about anything they said. I know it's something big because Gale rarely keeps anything from me._

_Rory's face appears on the screen. A loud boom sounds in the distance, indicating Madge's demise. Cato's canon has already gone off. _

_When Madge murdered Cato, a boom echoed throughout the forest. Rory froze and stared straight ahead._

_He didn't know who it was for. _

_Madge or Cato?_

_The logical choice, to anyone, was that it would have been Madge, but Rory held hope. _

_As the rumble of the last shot dies off, he just stands there. He doesn't move from the cave he has been hiding in. It is difficult to see his face in the night and I squint, peering through my blurry and tear filled eyes. _

_When the Capitol does something to the lighting and the screen, I am finally able to examine his expression. _

_He is numb. _

_As long moment of quiet, that not even the Capitol announcers interrupt, stretches out and the realization dawns on him. He sucks in a deep breath._

"_Madge!" he screams. I hold back a sob as Prim buries her head in my shoulder. _

_He sprints out of the cave and into the night. He looks frantically around, as if seeing her might prove that the canon was a lie. That she is actually alive and well, simply out collecting food like that fateful day not so long ago. He fists his hair and the desperate tears in his eyes are enough to scar anyone for life. _

_When the hovercraft comes to pick him up, he refuses to grab onto the ladder. He is hysterical with grief. I can only hear sobs and what sounds like Madge's name come from his mouth._

_Two men are lowered down and they have to fight Rory. They have to grab him roughly by both arms and try to force him onto the ladder, but Rory has grown strong and I see the damage he inflicts as he struggles against the two large men. _

_I'm surprised they don't cut off us from viewing such rebellious and uncooperative behavior, but I don't comment._

_Mostly because I can't even speak right now. _

_Finally they manage to lock him onto the ladder and Rory becomes frozen in place._

_The last thing anyone sees before the Panem seal and anthem comes on, is the broken and terrified expression upon his face as the hovercrafts lifts him away._

I am separated from Gale. He doesn't even glance at me as I peer over at him. He has his hunter's jacket on. I wore mine today, though it is far too large, it is all I have. It brings me an ounce of comfort through the pain.

I can hear the rustle of the crowd behind us as they shift and murmur. The mood might have been celebratory under different circumstances. Parcels and money and food will be sent in soon. We will prosper for a while, since Rory is our winner, but it seems like something so selfish to be thankful for, when all of our hearts are breaking.

Madge flashes through all our minds, though no one dares to speak her name.

The mayor stands with us all. His posture is straight and defined, his suit is flawless and expensive, but his expression… it is broken and lost. Madge's mother… well, they say she doesn't have too much time left. Her daughter's death broke her heart and she was barely hanging on as it was. Now she is spiraling.

I sigh and bite the inside of my cheek.

The rumble of the train vibrates the ground. As it grows closer, so do the vibrations. It seems as if everyone is holding their breath, I know I am. My eyes flick over to Gale, and though his face is emotionless, his eyes tell a different story.

Turmoil. So much turmoil. They switch from happiness to sorrow with every blink. I want to go comfort him, but not only do I not know how to, but I don't want to embarrass him. There's almost nothing more important to Gale than his pride. Maybe family and a few choice friends, but other than that, nothing.

I tear my eyes away as the train slows into the station. Halting ever so slowly, keeping us all in suspense. It finally stops, but not before my hearts starts beating erratically.

Then everything is almost in slow motion as a short twelve year old boy, broken and lost, steps off the train. He is barely touching the ground before Gale is engulfing him in a tight, brotherly hug. The rest of the family joins in, and though I want to participate, I know it is not my place.

It takes a few minutes of motionless silence before they start backing away and the crowd behind me goes into a restless murmur. I shift from foot to foot, not to keep warm, but to try and rid myself of the tense that has suddenly taken over everyone. Rory, he does not look like a child anymore, but really, after everything, why would he? Still, it startles me to see him like this in person. His family does not back away, but they eye him sadly, as if he is a broken toy. Though Gale just stares at him as if he does not know what to say.

The mayor strides forward confidently, though I can see by his posture that he is anything but. He sticks out his hand stiffly, grasping Rory's. Rory shakes his hand with a guilty face as if he is expecting to be scolded. It is more than that though. It is if he wants to be reprimanded. He wants to be told that what happened is not right and should not be praised, but no one is going to tell him that.

After the uncomfortable handshake, the mayor turns to stare unseeingly at the crowd.

"Ladies and gentleman, District Twelve's seventy-fourth Hunger Game's victor, Rory Hawthorne!" The mayor's enthusiasm actually sounds believable, but the tears forming at the corners of his eyes make me believe differently.

The crowd claps and cheers like they should, even if it is a little less exuberant than it should be. It goes on for a full five minutes before Rory steps forward, an almost livid expression on his grim face.

"Stop!" he commands. Almost immediately, every person is silenced and still. "Just stop!" Hazel, his mother, steps forward and places a hand on Rory's shoulder. He shrugs it off with an angry jerk of his shoulder. "I'm not the victor!"

"Rory-" Gale starts, but he is cut off by a wave of a hand from his brother.

"What did I do? Really, what did I do that was so great? I _hid_. I didn't fight some incredible battle. I barely suffered. I sat and waited. I did _nothing_. It was all _her_. _She_ was the one who did so much! And everyone just wants to forget her as if it were nothing. Well, I made a promise to her. No one will ever forget her, not if I have something to do with it." It is silent save for the sound of Rory's desperate voice ringing in my ears. No one dares look away. Rory takes a deep breath. "So, I give to you, District Twelve's_ real_ victor, Madge Undersee," Rory declares with a puff of his chest.

There is a steely, wise glint in his eyes as he raises three fingers from his left hand and gently places them on his lips. Once there, he closes his eyes for half a second before pulling them away and holding them up in a salute.

It takes me only a moment before I follow his lead. I don't even realize I'm doing it until my hand is already up in the air. Though I want to cry, I stay strong. I squeeze Prim's hand as she copies Rory and me.

One by one, every person in District Twelve mimics our movements, some with tears and others with hardened faces.

The mayor looks on, not participating. We all stay quiet until the mayor finally does the unthinkable.

He raises his fingers to his mouth and lifts them away, holding them up. His voice is quiet and cold and sturdy, but a single tear makes it way down his cheek as he speaks, his words lingering in the air as he stares head on into a camera.

"For Madge."

* * *

**A biggggg twist in the next chapter… **


	3. Chapter 3

**What… is this… no it couldn't be! Wait… no… I think it is… **

**Why, it's a… it's an update!**

**Yeah, okay, so I updated! Yay! **

**I was originally planning to get this out yesterday, but I was over at friend's house all day and didn't get home till kinda late. Staying Alive is going to be updated hopefully by tomorrow, but I'm going to a basketball game, so if I don't get the update out until Wednesday, sorry, don't kill me! It is done, I just haven't had time to edit it. Similar Desires will probably have an update on Wednesday, btw. **

**AND OMG A VEGGIE TALES SONG JUST CAME ON PANDORA AS I WAS TYPING THIS! (I do not own or endorse Pandora or the Veggie Tales on here, but I am mentioning it.)**

**Yeah, I know, I'm way old for the Veggie Tales. Okay… I am WAY too old for the Veggie Tales, but eh… I'm not responsible for what comes on Pandora right? I mean… so what if I have a kiddie station as an option…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games (or Veggie Tales or Pandora) but you know, it is one of many loves.**

* * *

Katniss's POV

We all gather around the small television screen. Prim sits beside me, though she pays me no attention. Her furtive glances toward Rory tell me everything without even needing to ask. Perhaps under different circumstances, I would be glaring at Rory or elbowing Prim, telling them they are too young for any affections, but I am not.

I know of Prim's secret crush on Rory. It started in the third grade and hasn't faltered. She is still as sweet on him as the day he started tugging on her braid and calling her names. Of course, though that seems forever ago, it really isn't. I have to remind myself that Rory is not older than he actually is. He is only twelve years old and he is still only a child. However, the dark circles under his eyes, the grim lines in the corners of his mouth, and the stiff pull of his facial muscles make me want to think differently.

We are piled into my house today. Though Rory's new home would be much roomier, it is still being renovated. I wouldn't dare to ask anyway. It feels familiar here in my house with us all being together again.

Yet it doesn't. Something dark lingers over our little group. Something that keeps everyone tense and scared and confused. As if something bad has happened and there is still more to come.

Isn't that the case though?

Prim inches closer to Rory, whose spot on the floor is close to hers on the couch. She acts as though she wants to touch him, comfort him, but doesn't reach a hand out. Her fingers twitch and her elbows tense, but she doesn't act on her desire.

I will never know the pain of loving someone, of even _liking_ someone, in that way. I decided long ago that my love would only be spent on Prim, my mother, and the Hawthorne family. I can't afford to extend my affections to anyone else and I don't have the will to care for anyone else. I refuse to marry and have children. I will not bring someone into this terrible world of despair and death. I will not give someone a life that is already destined to be ruined.

Prim finally decides to extend a hand out and rest it on Rory's shoulder. Rory's head has been down for the past few minutes, not staring at the television in front of us, but he snaps it up. There isn't a scowl on his face, but he isn't smiling either. He subtly slips away from Prim, allowing her hand to slide of his shoulder and back into her lap. Prim's cheeks burn with embarrassment and she ducks her head, allowing the braids to cover her red face.

Rory, while looking guilty, doesn't comment, and goes back to staring moodily around, though he keeps his head up and in the general direction of the screen.

I pull my prying gaze away from him and back to television as I hear the announcer finally start speaking about what we have been waiting for.

My mother sits close to Hazel. My mother appears to be close to either a breakdown or a shutdown, but leans closer to Gale's mother for comfort and stays relatively calm. Hazel seems to be trying to sooth her, but with a four year old Posy on her lap, she is more focused on the child. I don't blame her. Hazel is the one with a broken son who just came back from hell, shouldn't my mother be comforting _her _instead?

Vick is burying his head in a book. He is not trying to be rude; this is just how he deals. He is not a crier or a shouter or a fighter. When he is upset he reads, he talks it over, or he writes it down somewhere.

Gale stands against the back wall, I don't even dare to turn around and study him.

I lean over to the television on the small counter and turn the knob, making the sound louder for all of us to hear.

It has been a three days since Rory stepped off that train and back into our district. Two days since the Capitol forced the mayor to do damage control over his and his districts actions. One day since the last death.

A lady with lime green hair, lime green eyes, and lime green lips speaks animatedly into the microphone with a cheery smile on her altered and painted face. I find this odd, since the news she is delivering is anything but cheery. Her cohost at least shows the proper amount of respect, and keeps his bright auburn eyebrows tugged together with in a grim expression. His mouth is a serious, straight line of orange.

"Yesterday afternoon," she starts. Wrong, I think, it was yesterday morning, but I don't say anything. "Mrs. Henrietta Undersee, previously known as Henrietta Donner before marriage, died from an aneurism of the brain. The vessel ruptured, killing her at just thirty-eight, and putting an end to the line of Undersee women."

Suddenly the man lights up and his bright orange eyes flash excitedly. I lose any respect I had for him.

"Yes, that's right, Celia! Mayor Undersee's mother passed away a few years ago, and being an only he child, he married a woman of the Donner family, who has now passed. With Margaret Undersee's, or as she is more popularly known as, Madge's death in the Hunger Games, it certainly seems as if the District Twelve mayor's family is depleting." He stacks the papers in front of him as if they hold important information, but he doesn't look down at them once. Celia takes a hearty drink of… whatever is in the atrocious lime green mug in front of her and nods.

They show a picture of Mrs. Undersee. It is a picture of before she became sick. She is younger and a perfect smile full of pearly white teeth is shown to the camera. A silky black evening dress hangs off her shoulder elegantly and her hair is twisted into an elaborate bun.

Next comes a picture of Madge. It is of her interview dress. Black and flames and dramatic make up that doesn't seem like Madge at all, but it is beautiful nonetheless. She is beautiful. Much like her mother, a charming smile is displayed for everyone to see and she performs for the camera.

Finally, they show a photograph of mayor Undersee. It is a recent photo. He has bags under his eyes, wrinkles creased into his forehead and chin, and graying hair atop his head. I have never noticed how worn down the mayor was getting. I realize now that some of my prejudice has subsided, that his profession must be very hard on him. He protects our district the best he can, looking the other direction when we hunt illegally and raising the meager pay as much as possible, yet no one thanks him for it. In fact, it looks as if he pays a price for the things he does.

Celia sucks in a breath and her absurdly high cheekbones pull in. She grimaces.

"Looks like the mayor isn't doing too well either, won't be long now, I say Jomi! He looks as if he could keel over at any moment!" She lets out a piercing laugh that makes Posy cover her ears.

"Oh, and he most definitely-"

Suddenly the television cuts off and goes dark. For once in my life, I'm thankful for the unreliable power in the Seam.

I cautiously slide my eyes over to Rory. His face is a careful, clean slate of indifference, but his fists are clenched and his breath comes out rougher than usual. This time, Prim doesn't try to comfort him or pat his back in support, she just watches with sad eyes and a hopeless expression.

It is silent and tense and still as no one says a word or moves.

Finally, Rory climbs to his feet. He doesn't glance at anyone or utter a word; he simply turns on his heel, exits our house, and slams the door.

I cringe.

As he exits, I turn to Prim. She doesn't say anything either, but her eyes tell me everything.

She doesn't know what to do. She wants to help. That is who she is. She's a helper. Someone who comfort and supports even when you don't know you need it.

I sling an arm around her as I feel Gale's presence behind me move. I know without turning around that he is heading toward the door to his brother. I sigh, wishing everything would go back to normal, but knowing that it won't.

The official story of Madge's mother's death is the aneurysm, but everyone in District Twelve knows better. Sure, Madge's mother was sick and she had headaches, but she was strong. I can only think of two possibilities. The Capitol. We all know the mayor can't do what he did the day Rory returned and get away without punishment. And this is what the Capitol does. They take families and tear them apart. I have no doubt in my mind that the Capitol could orchestrate Mrs. Undersee's death and dress it up all pretty and make us all believe that it is simply what they say it is.

The second possibility makes my insides ache and my chest tightens painfully.

She died of a broken heart. She died because she couldn't handle her only daughter's death. Still, this is at the fault of the Capitol. They did this with their sick and twisted enjoyment of the Hunger Games.

My head whips around as if I think the Capitol can hear me even though I didn't speak my thoughts aloud.

I know we have to hold on and get through this together. Wait for better times. Hope for the best while we try to survive.

But how can we hope to survive when hope itself is slowly dying?

* * *

"How is she?"

It is silent in the room as a woman stays mute. A man clenches his fists. He is jittery, but determined. He appears angry and the woman sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"She's… getting better."

"How much better?"

The woman glares, her eyes a steely gray.

"Better than yesterday when you asked the same exact question," she snaps. The faint beeping of a heart monitor sounding behind the curtain starts speeding up, almost imperceptibly, but the two people don't notice.

"When will she wake up?" he questions loudly. Their hushed whispers are now demanding words.

"It's hard to tell."

"What the hell does that mean?"

The beeping quickens.

"It means what it means!" The woman puts her hands on her hips. Her blond hair is coming out of the tight bun it was once in. She is nearly a head shorter than the man, but she stands on her own with an air of power.

"Just give me an estimate. Days, weeks, months, what? I'm going crazy here!" he hisses. His graying hair is disheveled and his clothes are thrown on haphazardly, but he still manages to appear strong.

Her voice rings out an answer that makes the room stressed and uncomfortable.

"It could be within the next minute or it could be never!" she finally yells out in an answer.

She looks as if she regrets her words, but they are out there and there is no taking them back.

The beeping is now rapid, but both people are too preoccupied to notice.

"So…?" he trails off with an angry huff. The man is now deflated and it becomes clear how much he cares.

"All we can do is hope," the woman answers soothingly.

"Hope?" he bites back. She nods, but he appears entirely unconvinced.

"Yes," she whispers. It remains tense as the man whips around, his back now to the woman as he walks roughly away.

Suddenly the beeping slows back down to a sluggish, melancholy beat.

"Hope died when _she_ did."

* * *

**So, was that Madge? Huh, was it? Maybe or maybe NOT! We shall see my friends. Thanks for all the encouragement from the last chapter(s)!**


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